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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29248653">Love Stinks</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caitybug/pseuds/Caitybug'>Caitybug</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow &amp; Related Fandoms</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Baz pov, First Kiss, M/M, Pining, Simon Snow has IBS, Soulmate AU, beta read because I hate my friends :D, could be 8th, crack!, even the author doesn't know tbh, fart au, flatulants, lactose intolerant people can relate, not first year, not i, though it could be 7th, vampires allergic to garlic, watford-era snowbaz, what year is this?, who knows - Freeform</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 11:20:13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,791</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29248653</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caitybug/pseuds/Caitybug</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Once upon a time a mage—clearly drunk, stupid, and utterly tired of the world—created a spell.</p><p>One that went awry. </p><p>He had meant to cast a spell to prevent himself from smelling his customers- tired of the odor consistently expelled from their arses after eating food that didn’t sit right with them. (And it often didn’t sit right with them.)</p><p>But he made a mistake.</p><p>___</p><p>Baz and Simon are soulmates, but the way they figure it out isn't very conventional.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>79</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Love Stinks</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/AliceLiddle/gifts">AliceLiddle</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Happy happy birthday <a href="http://tumblr.com/blog/waywardfangirl">Alice!</a></p><p>I hope you enjoy this silly little soulmate story that I put together for you. &lt;3</p><p>Thanks so much to my friend Bree, and <a href="http://tumblr.com/blog/foolofabookwyrm">Liz</a> for checking this out!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Once upon a time a mage—clearly drunk, stupid, and utterly tired of the world—created a spell.</em>
</p><p><em>One that went </em>awry<em>. </em></p><p><em>He had meant to cast a spell to prevent himself from smelling his customers- tired of the odor consistently expelled from their arses after eating food that didn’t sit right with them. (And it </em>often<em> didn’t sit right with them.)</em></p><p>
  <em>But he made a mistake.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The girl across the room, who he was desperately in love with, who he was planning to propose to—distracted him while he was casting his spell. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>He had his wand raised, ready to cast, pointing at the crowded pub—but only looking at her. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>He thought to himself, without meaning to, that she’d always be the exception. No matter what she did, he’d love her. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Because even when she scrunched her face up into something seemingly unattractive, or burped after she drank tea—she’s all he wanted.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>She was it for him. His raison d’être.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>His soulmate. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>And so began the weirdest phenomenon amongst mages.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Something no one has been able to figure out or undo.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Soulmates, much as many don’t believe they exist, will always find each other. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>In friends, in strangers—at pubs or on the tube.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>But the way you know it’s true is more than the feeling in your heart.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>It’s also in the smell of their fart. </em>
</p>
<p></p><div class="break">
  <p>—————————</p>
</div><p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p></p><div class="name">
  <p>
    <em>Baz</em>
  </p>
</div><p>I hate the days Simon Snow gets ice cream from the dining hall. It’s always a mountainous monstrosity of vanilla and chocolate sauce.</p><p>It’s at <em>least</em> once a week that this happens, seemingly as a reward. (I’m not sure what the reward is <em>for </em>necessarily. Pissing me off? Saving the school from a dragon?)</p><p>Making below par grades?</p><p>Being the Mage’s weapon?</p><p>(I know I sound awful. Snow deserves <em>something</em> good.) </p><p><em>But why does it have to make </em>me<em> suffer?</em></p><p>I groan when I see him grab a bowl of the dairy-filled sweet that’s sure to disrupt his entire digestive tract.</p><p>(IBS is a cruel cruel problem that plagues not only Snow, but me.)</p><p>I don’t think he believes there’s any problem with it. That I wouldn’t <em>notice</em> the aftermath.</p><p>(What a horror it was first year, though. When I first realized it.)</p><p>He believes that I <em>shouldn’t</em> be able to smell it. (And I shouldn’t. Not really.)</p><p><em>But</em>...</p><p>
  <em>The thing about soulmates…</em>
</p><p>Well. It <em>shouldn’t</em> be a thing at all. It’s absolutely <em>horrid</em>. I <em>hate</em> it.</p><p>But it’s there. Staring me right in the face. Completely consuming me- mind, body, soul, and nostrils. </p><p>I learned about it young—the soulmate spell. (The curse, as it feels right now while I watch Snow seal my fate with every spoonful of vanilla ice cream.) </p><p>That you can’t ever smell anyone’s farts (or burps too, apparently), unless they’re your soulmates.</p><p>(Out of all the things that could plague us, it had to be this?) (Why couldn’t it have been some sort of matching tattoo or phrase written on the inside of my wrist?) </p><p>I’d gladly take Simon Snow written on my forehead in black permanent ink over this.</p><p>
  <em>Farts?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Really?</em>
</p><p>I had my father describe what a fart was, when I was a child. (I hadn’t smelled one—so he described it in great detail. What it was. What my mother’s smelled like.) (I hadn’t even farted myself, really.) </p><p>The description he gave me sounded <em>awful</em>. But he described her like she was made of roses, and that anything expelled from her smelled like it. My father truly believed my mother hung the moon. </p><p>I was in shock for at least a week.</p><p>The idea that someone could <em>smell</em> what came from your arse. I mean we can all <em>hear</em> it. But it’s the scent that really makes it awful, apparently. <em>Especially</em> if it’s silent but deadly. (A term my father taught me in our discussion.)</p><p>Otherwise, the only signifier of a fart is the noise. </p><p>(And, unfortunately, Simon Snow is a master of the silent fart.)</p><p>But when I came to Watford, I learned through first hand experience what a fart smelled like.</p><p>
  <em>From Simon Bloody Snow.</em>
</p><p>I almost gave up the act immediately when it first happened. I stumbled, I stammered, I asked Snow what smell was coming from the room.</p><p>I thought it might have been the merewolves. They always released foul odors from the moat. </p><p>(There was a terrifying moment where I thought one of <em>them</em> was my soulmate. That I was just smelling their gaseous fumes.)</p><p>But, luckily (unluckily?) for me— I learned what a fart can <em>truly</em> smell like. And what I was smelling wasn’t from them.</p><p>He let out a large fart- one that couldn’t be ignored, louder than any of the screaming and laughter from the grounds. I remember his face went red with embarrassment as we stared at each other, recognizing what had happened.</p><p>I held my breath, desperate to not let on that I more than heard him. Tears pricked at the edges of my eyes. </p><p>He darted out of the room soon after, leaving me staring at the doorway, standing in his <em>stench</em>, and forced to process something I wasn’t ready for.</p><p>That Simon Snow is my soulmate. </p><p>Until that moment I dubbed him my enemy. But all of it was ruined by his insistence on consuming cheese. </p><p>What’s worse is his <em>massive</em> stomach problems. </p><p>Some days I want to shake him and show him the ways of alternative milk. Almond, coconut, oat. Show him a life without frequent bowel movements and stomach cramps.</p><p>But I can’t. </p><p>I don’t think he’s realized we’re soulmates, and I’m not about to clue him in. So I’ve made sure to never fart, especially in his vicinity. (I have farted. Garlic does me wrong.) (Strange vampire allergy.) I keep a strict diet nowadays, and none of it includes foods that would lead to flatulations, excessive or otherwise. </p><p>I’m unsure if my inability to fart is a vampire perk or a result of years of repressed emotions and plenty of fiber. There are no books on the gas habits of vampires for me to research. </p><p>I have, somehow, managed to keep it to myself throughout the years. Despite any and all stench that comes from him in the night, or travels out of the bathroom after dinners, I’ve kept quiet.</p><p>I’ve gotten fairly good at covering up when I can smell it. </p><p>Though now, as I watch him go to grab a second helping of ice cream, I know I’m more doomed than ever.</p><p>
  <em>Two bowls?</em>
</p><p><em>Simon never gets </em>two<em> bowls of ice cream.</em></p><p>Usually it’s a bowl of ice cream and a countless amount of scones completely doused in butter.</p><p>Butter is bad enough—ice cream is <em>worse</em>. </p><p>And two ice creams—well, I’m done for. </p><p>I sigh, dismissing myself from the table, and head to Mummer’s to enjoy what little moments I can in the room before he returns. A bomb of smoke and gas. </p><p>It doesn’t take long before the door opens and he walks in. It’s Thursday—and I know Bunce has him on a strict homework schedule. He used to go to the library with her, but after he nearly exploded the building he’s been banned.</p><p>(Imagine that—being banned from the <em>library</em>.)</p><p>He stomps into the room, tossing his book bag onto his desk chair and throwing himself onto his bed.</p><p>I take a deep breath of fresh air, not knowing how long I have left. </p><p>He lets out a deep sigh. </p><p>I look at him from the corner of my eye, trying to see what’s happening. If there’s something I’ve missed.</p><p>Same bronze curls, freckled skin, broad shoulders that I’ve been watching all these years. But his blue eyes hold a different emotion than I expected.</p><p>He’s… <em>sad</em>.</p><p>“What’s wrong, Snow?” I ask, trying to keep my voice bored and flat. “No chocolate sauce for your ice cream today?”</p><p>He huffs, sniffles, then rolls onto his side, hiding his face from me. It means I can’t investigate him further, but I don’t have to hide my glances anymore. </p><p>He mumbles something even <em>I</em> can’t manage to figure out. </p><p>“What, Snow?”</p><p>“Agatha broke up with me,” he responds louder.</p><p>I frown. “I’m sure you’ll find a way to fix it, Snow.” Laughter travels from the grounds through our window, enveloping us in someone else’s joy. “Maybe that’s her now. Better go try to-”</p><p>“I don’t think we’re soulmates, Baz.”</p><p>I roll my eyes. <em>Bloody hell</em>.</p><p>“Just eat another bowl of ice cream and go sit next to her. I’m sure she’ll smell the stench coming from your arse a mile away.” I close my book, not wanting to sit here and wait for the bomb to explode. (From his magic <em>or</em> his arse.)</p><p>He groans. “I’m not going to <em>fart</em> near my girlfriend to see if she’s my soulmate, Baz.”</p><p>“Ex girlfriend,” I correct.</p><p>He rolls over, catching my eyes as I begin to pack up my things. Maybe I’ll study on the grounds. The catacombs are always a quiet place to work. Nothing but my inner demons and scurrying rats racing past. “I think it’s over, Baz. For real.”</p><p>I nod my head once in acknowledgement. “Well, sounds like you’ve got a lot to process. I’ll leave you to it.” I stand up, push in my chair and start walking away.</p><p>“Wait—” he sits up, making me stop before I open the door. I turn around and see his eyes squinting at me, confused. “How do you know I fart when I’ve had ice cream?”</p><p>I blink.</p><p><em>Fuck</em>. </p><p>“I’ve heard you, Snow. You’re not exactly <em>quiet</em>.” I turn around to open the door, not letting him see my face falter. <em>How did he connect the dots?</em></p><p>“I actually <em>am</em>,” he continues. I start walking away, but he follows me out the door. <em>Crowley, Snow</em>. I can never be rid of him. “I worked on it first year after—”</p><p>“Yes yes,” I interrupt, not wanting to rehash old fights. I continue down another flight, trying to gain speed on him, but he continues. When I get closer to the exit, I pause on the stairs and turn to look up at him. “What are you getting at?”</p><p>He purses his lips, frowning like he’s contemplating his next words. </p><p>I almost don’t want to let him.</p><p>What’s he going to say? He’s pieced it together? That he knows we’re soulmates?</p><p>What would he even <em>do</em>?</p><p>(A flurry of options fly across my brain. Kiss me. Punch me. <em>Kill me</em>, perhaps.) (I’m not sure which I’d prefer, if I’m being honest.)</p><p>We stare at each other for a moment. Blue eyes meeting grey. </p><p>Then—it hits. (Literally.)</p><p>My nose wrinkles without my meaning for it to, and Snow’s face breaks into glee. I try to compose myself, but it’s too late. A second wave hits my nostrils and I try not to gag. </p><p>“Crowley, Snow,” I choke, “did you shit yourself?”</p><p>He frowns, then turns to look at his trousers. “No.” He takes a deep breath and lets out a sigh. “Dairy just doesn’t agree with me.”</p><p>I take the two steps remaining and open the door, desperate for fresh air. For relief to flood my lungs and allow me to breath anything other than whatever dead animal Snow’s managed to smell like. (I’ll take the moat and the merewolves over this any day.) I heave in a great breath, savouring the untainted air.</p><p>It doesn’t last long—he’s next to me in a flash. “<em>That’s</em> an understatement, Snow,” I say, not wanting to hear whatever else he has to say on the matter. </p><p>He shrugs in apology. “Sorry,” he mutters. </p><p>I take a few more breaths, shaking my head. “It’s fine, Snow,” I murmur, taking a seat in the grass, leaning my head against the wall of the tower. </p><p>He sits down across from me, folding his legs into himself. He looks small like this. Timid. Afraid.</p><p>
“What does this mean then?” He asks quietly.</p><p>I sigh. “Isn’t it obvious?”</p><p>“No,” he says, dropping his legs and looking at me with new intensity. “It’s not!” A pause. I raise my eyebrows. “I mean… I <em>know</em> what it means but—” He’s nervous, stammering along his words, pulling the hair out of his scalp. “But what does that—what are we—”</p><p>“Get it <em>out</em>, Snow,” I sneer. I close my eyes and lean my head back further, letting the cool brick hit my forehead. </p><p>
  <em>End it, Snow.</em>
</p><p>Tell me it’ll never be. That we may be <em>soulmates</em>, but we’ll never be together.</p><p>“Why have I never smelled <em>your</em> farts, then?” He asks.</p><p><em>Idiot</em>.</p><p>“<em>That’s</em> what you’re choosing to ask right now?” I say, meeting his eyes again. He nods.</p><p>I sigh. “I don’t fart, Snow.”</p><p>He snorts.</p><p>I glare.</p><p>“Really?” He asks, like <em>my</em> bowel activity levels are the ones to be questioned here. “Like, <em>nothing</em> makes you fart?”</p><p>I shrug. </p><p>“Garlic, I think,” I answer.</p><p>He lets out an unattractive snort again. “Of course.”</p><p>I raise an eyebrow in question.</p><p>“Well seeing as you’re a vampire and all—”</p><p>“<em>Not</em> a vampire,” I growl. He raises his hands in defeat, dropping the matter.</p><p>We sit for another few moments, letting the sounds of birds flying overhead drown out my inner thoughts. A group of first-years run past with a football, headed towards the pitch.</p><p>Simon coughs and begins to dig in his pocket. I almost start questioning him, but he pulls out something small and beige, tossing it to me a second later. </p><p>I catch it, curious. </p><p>I groan when I realize what it is. “Do you <em>seriously</em> carry garlic around with you, Snow?”</p><p>“Can’t be too careful living with a vampire and all.”</p><p>“What are you going to do with a <em>singular clove</em> of garlic? Season my pasta?”</p><p>“I read that it’s poisonous to vampires or something,” he says.</p><p>“From what? Twilight?” I ask.</p><p>He shrugs. Half of Simon’s responses are shrugs. The other half are a combination of expletives, grunts, and huffs. </p><p>I stare at the clove. “Why would I eat this? What would you <em>get</em> out of this?”</p><p>“Confirmation,” he says matter-of-factly. </p><p>I could <em>not</em> eat it. Let Snow sit here and wonder.</p><p>But the way he’s looking at me now, curious and bright—</p><p>It gives me hope. A hope I never thought I’d get to have. </p><p>I stand up, Snow following me, mirroring my movements, and pop the piece of garlic in my mouth.</p><p>It’s strong. (Garlic <em>always</em> is like this.) I walk back into the tower, afraid of what might happen outdoors. Of who else might <em>see</em>. I start to sniffle halfway up the tower. My brain feels a bit fuzzy by the time we’re in the room.</p><p>I blow my nose before moving to my bed. But when I sit down, I feel it happen. </p><p>It’s quiet, so quiet that I don’t think Snow heard.</p><p>But it <em>smells</em>.</p><p>It takes another minute for Snow to smell it. I expect him to act revolted, to run out of the room—but he doesn’t.</p><p>He takes two steps closer and sits next to me on my bed. I’ve half a mind to push him off, to throw him into the moat and watch him drown.</p><p>He softly puts his hand on mine. “So… we’re soulmates.”</p><p>I nod.</p><p>“And you knew about it?”</p><p>I nod again, unsure of what to say.</p><p>“I wish you would have said something,” he mutters, looking down at his knees. “<em>Anything</em>.”</p><p>“I didn’t think you’d care. You <em>hate</em> me.”</p><p>“I thought you hated me too.” He squeezes my hand. I hate how much I love it.</p><p>“What would you have done if I had? Punch me? Kick me out of the room? Stake me in the heart?”</p><p>He doesn’t respond immediately. Then he turns to me, chin jutted out like he’s gunning for battle. “I’d do this—”</p><p>And he leans forward, so fast I can’t even <em>think</em> of pulling away (not that I would), and kisses me.</p><p>It’s warm, soft, <em>deep</em>.</p><p>He kisses me so long I start to forget anything else exists besides his arms, his fingers on my chin, his lips parting mine—tongue tasting me as he slowly pushes me down onto the bed.</p><p>It’s my stomach gurgling that makes me stop.</p><p>“Snow, this is great and all, but I <em>do</em> need to use the loo.” I push him off me and dart to the toilet.</p><p>And although I’m on the toilet absolutely <em>wrecked</em> from one clove of garlic (maybe Snow had the right idea after all), I can’t help but smile.</p><p>Because I can still feel Snow’s lips on mine. And I know he’s on the other side, ready for more.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Feel free to check me out on <a href="http://tumblr.com/blog/caitybuglove23">Tumblr!</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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